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Updated: May 24, 2025
"The work of cutting could go on steadily here, under the direction of Mr. Czenki," Mr. Wynne resumed after a moment. "The secrecy of this place has not been violated for forty years. We are now one hundred and seventy feet below ground level, in a gallery of the abandoned coal mine which gave Coaldale its name, reached underground from the cellar in the cottage.
Haney, or somebody, killed Mr. Kellner and stole some uncut diamonds you must have seen the newspaper account of it to-day. The New York police traced Haney's course to Coaldale and to that house. But all they know is that sixty thousand dollars' worth of uncut stones were stolen. There was not even a suggestion to them of the millions and millions of dollars' worth that were manufactured.
It was an hour's ride to Coaldale, a sprawling, straggly village with only four or five houses in sight from the station. When the three men left the train there, Mr. Birnes walked over and spoke to the agent, a thin, cadaverous, tobacco-chewing specimen of his species. "We are looking for an old gentleman who lives out here somewhere," he explained.
Instead, that night I personally began an investigation to see what disposition was made of the sugar. I found that the ships discharged their cargoes in Hoboken, that the sugar was there loaded on barges, and those barges hauled up a small stream to the little town of Coaldale, all consigned to a Mr. Hugo Kellner. "It took Friday, all day Saturday, and a great part of to-day to learn all this.
His hand was still gripped over the transmitter. Suddenly she turned and tugged at it fiercely. Her sharp little nails bit into the flesh of his fingers. In a last desperate effort she placed the receiver to her lips. "Give me long distance, Coaldale Number " With a quick movement he snapped the connecting wire from the instrument, and the receiver was free in her hand.
I guess I was lit up good, 'cause if I'd 'a' been right I wouldn't 'a' went to the hock-shop an' got pinched." He glanced around at the five other men in the room, and he read belief in each face, whereupon he drew a breath of relief. "What town was it?" asked the chief. "Little place named Coaldale." "Coaldale," the chief repeated thoughtfully. "Where is that?"
Birnes, Chief Arkwright and Detective Sergeant Connelly were on a train, bound for Coaldale. Mr. Birnes had left them for a moment at the ferry and rushed into a telephone booth. When he came out he was exuberantly triumphant. "It's my man, all right," he assured the chief. "He has been missing since Friday night, and no one knows his whereabouts. It's my man."
She seized the receiver from the hook and held it to her ear. "Hello!" called Central. "Give me long distance Coaldale, Number " "No," commanded Mr. Wynne, and he placed one hand over the transmitter tightly. "Doris, you must not!" "I will!" she flamed. "Let me alone!" "You'll ruin everything," he pleaded earnestly. "Don't you know that they get every number I call?
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